


first and always

by devourer_of_books



Series: soneto de fidelidade [1]
Category: The School for Good and Evil - Soman Chainani
Genre: Consent is Sexy, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Times, Fluffy Smut, Hickeys, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, barn makeouts, blowjob, extra domestic bc that’s how we do things around here, lots of kissing and cuddling and softness, post-moors-scene, tedros is such a tease I can’t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24855187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devourer_of_books/pseuds/devourer_of_books
Summary: “I already know what ever after is supposed to feel like, because I can taste it on your lips every time I kiss you.”Unseen moments from the night Tedros and Agatha spend in the barn.alternative title: it’s smut, but it’s fluffy domestic smut.
Relationships: Agatha/Tedros (The School for Good and Evil)
Series: soneto de fidelidade [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798165
Comments: 21
Kudos: 58





	first and always

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit awkward, not gonna lie.  
> I’ve written some spicy-ish scenes before, but nothing like this. It’s a first for me (pun not intended) and I’m not sure if it’s good? I mean, I tried really hard not to botch it, but I haven’t been this nervous about a story since… never, I guess.  
> So your feedback and support would be very appreciated?  
> Also, I’m tagging this as underage, even if I have a personal headcanon for all my stories that 16 is the legal age in the Endless Woods. The reasons for this are:  
> a) In canon, here Tedros would still be 15. It could very much be a AgedUp!AU, since I don’t specify their age anywhere, but since it’s set during the barn night, we’re running with canon ages.  
> b) While technically this is not considered underage here in Brazil (consent age is 14, legal age 18), as my main audience is from the US, I’ll tag accordingly.

There truly is something poetic about the simplicity of being held by the person you love that allows for even the most parnasian of descriptions to fall short in comparison.

They kneel on the ground after their legs give out, and with puffy eyes and swollen lips, settling into a crushing embrace. Agatha’ arms lock around his torso like chains and her knuckles turn white from fisting the back of his shirt, but Tedros didn’t particularly seem to mind, one hand splayed on her back, the other cradling her neck as she rested her forehead on his chest, his nose buried into her hair.

For the following ten to twenty minutes that they stay like this, Agatha doesn’t dare fall asleep, despite how completely exhausted she feels. She wills herself to stay awake, listening to steady rhythm of his heartbeat, hanging on to its every unspoken promise.

The moment feels sacred, almost untouchable in a way, which is why Agatha is both disappointed and grateful when at last, it ends, as Tedros stomach growls. The loudness of it makes her let out a strangled hissy laugh, her throat a bit raw from all the crying, and he playfully tries to muffle it by pushing her head further onto his shirt.

“I haven’t eaten anything in _hours,_ okay?” he justifies, running a hand through his hair and grabbing her hand. “Please tell me there’s another one of those food baskets at the porch.”

“Nope,” she replies, interlocking their fingers, pulling him towards the farmhouse,“but I think there’s still bread somewhere. We can make sandwiches with the leftover chicken from dinner.”

“We? You didn’t have dinner?”

“I… wasn’t hungry.”

Tedros squeezes her hand tenderly.

Perhaps they spent longer than she anticipated at the moors, because as they approach the house, Agatha can no longer hear the piccolo or the gigling. Instead, as she quietly opens the front door, the only thing she is able to hear is Lancelot’s snoring down the hall. Squinting in the darkness, she can tell Hort wasn’t on the couch, and it was unlikely that Sophie had returned either.

The candle she left behind when she ran outside was still where she had abandoned it, although it had been put out, probably by Guinevere. Tedros makes quick work of finding a match, and they tip toe into the kitchen, lighting up another two candles to avoid knocking things over on accident and waking up their hosts.

Predictably, the chicken is cold and Agatha does her best to heat it up without burning it to a crisp, while Tedros cuts the bread into loaves and rampages the pantry for anything else they could use.

They whisper and suppress laughs the entire time, and the domesticity of it all only hits her fully when she turns around to place the chicken leftovers at the dining table.

“I couldn’t find any mayonnaise,” Tedros informs her. He’s sitting comfortably on a chair, a small collection of random ingredients taking up most of the space in front of him, ranging from ketchup to kale.

“There’s none.” Her heart skips a beat when she notices that he left her chair pulled out for her and she tries not to blush as she continues: “I thought you didn’t like mayo...?”

“I don’t,” he agrees as she turns around again, reaching up to grab the plates on the top cupboard, “but you do. I thought you migh-” he interrupts himself, the last word botched as he seemed to choke on air.

Agatha immediately spins on her heels, clutching two plates, only to find Tedros staring at her.

He looks _fine,_ but his expression is slightly unfamiliar. The prince is red-faced, his fists tight around the armrests of the chair, something else she can’t quite name in his eyes. The lighting in the room is not the best, but the way he’s looking her reminds her a bit of the way Reaper used to watch the birds by the window in Graves Hill.

_Wait, was he…?_

A strong rash appears on the back of her neck at late realization that she’s barefoot and wearing just her night-dress and underwear. She wasn’t even wearing a bra. 

Guinevere had lent her and Sophie some of Lancelot’s old shirts for them to sleep in, as was the case of the baggy brown shirt Agatha had changed into for night before she decided to go outside. The piece of clothing was long sleeved and made out of opaque fabric, but it did sit higher on her thighs than any dress she had ever worn. 

She had been fine being around Sophie in just _that_ because Sophie was Sophie, but Tedros was… _Tedros._

(Technically, she had been naked around Tedros _once_ , when she had de-transformed on the trial by tale. But back then she had other priorities, and well, she hadn’t really thought of him as a boy then either. At least not in the way she does _now._ )

Agatha watches him carefully from the corner of her eye, setting the plates aside and purposefully slowing down her movements, deciding to test her theory by reaching up into the top cabinet for another plate, despite the fact that they did not need a third one.

“You were saying… ?” she asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, the hem of the shirt sliding up even higher than the previous time, exposing the bottom of her ass-cheeks.

Tedros’ eyes follow its movement, greedily drinking in the sight of her bare skin, lost in his own thoughts. In fact, he doesn’t even seem to realize she asked him anything until she faces him again, lifting a brow and crossing her arms to mask her amusement.

“Tedros?”

His gaze snaps back up.

“I was just... I mean, you-” he stamers back. Tedros audibly gulps, offering her a sheepish smile, though Agatha can tell he’s having some trouble keeping his eyes on her face. “Sorry, what was the question?”

“Nothing important,” Agatha dismisses, approaching the table, biting back an uncharacteristically indolent smirk.

_She had just distracted her boyfriend using her legs._

Agatha had always thought it was disgusting when boys ogled at girls, but she finds that she doesn’t really mind Tedros looking at her like that. Actually, the fact that _she_ is able to have such an effect on him makes her feel… _warm._

She thinks she likes it.

They sit together at the table, and start making the sandwiches. Tedros’ eyes go wide when he takes his first bite, mentioning how he had missed eating food that hadn’t gone cold. He tells her about the last few days he spent outside between bites and Agatha is happy to let him do most of the talking, offering small bits of commentary.

Maybe, had she been Sophie, this would be the part where she’d offer a long description of how handsome Tedros looked under the dim candle light, but honestly, Agatha had been starving and though she had done some damage to it, Guinevere’s chicken was still very tasty.

 _He looks good_ , she thinks, like a footnote, as she fixes another sandwich for herself, _he always does._

Eventually there’s neither any bread nor chicken left and Agatha puts away the rest of the ingredients Tedros had gathered, while he gets started on the dishes. She comes to help him, drying as he washed and then putting them away (she sees him peek over his shoulder to watch her place the plates back inside the top cabinet and also when she bends down to return the chicken tray to the bottom cupboard, which she finds awfully funny).

When they finish up, Agatha puts out the extra candle and they make their way back to living room hand-in-hand.

“Where are you sleeping?” she murmurs, squeezing his hand.

Agatha asks this question without looking at him, but she hopes he understands what she means without her having to say it out loud.

_I don’t wanna say goodnight just yet._

Part of her wants to invite him to the guest bedroom with her but she can’t bring herself to do so. That bed was hers and Sophie’s and if Tedros had truly chosen Agatha over her, then she wanted to cause the least amount of heartbreak possible. 

Following this logic, sharing the couch also wasn’t an option. She doesn’t think Sophie would appreciate seeing them together first thing after Tedros broke up with her. Agatha sure wouldn’t.

“I mean, I could take the couch…” Tedros squeezes her hand back. _I don’t wanna say goodnight either._ “Or we could just… you know, stay awake for a while longer.”

Agatha finds the perfect answer as she looks out the window.

He follows her gaze, but before he can pull her outside, towards the barn, Agatha lets go of his hand, whispering to him:

“Wait here.”

It takes her about fifteen seconds to rip off the sheets from the guest bed and much longer to put on new ones in their place. When she finally returns, balancing the crumpled sheets and her pillow in one arm, keeping them away from the candle, Tedros grins.

“Smart,” he compliments, hand already outstretched to help her.

“Hope we won’t have to share with the chickens,” she smiles back.

And fortunately enough, they actually don’t have to. All the chickens are asleep inside a hen house near the entrance, and although the barn seems to store mostly horse equipment and hay, all the horses were housed at the stables, just beside the barn.

The couple ditches the candles as soon as they walk in, given the moonlight is able to stream in through the, _definitely not weatherproof,_ ceiling and open windows. Agatha almost feels the need to stare at it disapprovingly (the entire ground is covered in _hay_ , Lancelot and Guinevere were practically _asking_ for a fire with a barn like this) before she remembers it doesn’t _rain_ there.

There’s enough stray hay for Tedros and Agatha to pile it up into a makeshift bed near the back, more or less hidden from view, using some pitchforks they found lying around. The horse equipment comes in handy, as they layer some saddle blankets for extra comfort before putting down the bedsheets over it.

Overall, it looks pretty cozy.

Turns out, it _feels_ pretty cozy too, especially with Tedros lying beside her.

She’s on her back, staring at the starry night through the holes in the ceiling, one of the prince’s arms placed as a pillow behind her head, as he had seized her actual pillow and claimed it as his own. How is she not cutting his circulation, one cannot be sure, but as Tedros was usually very vocal about his comfort level, Agatha decided to enjoy it while she could.

Lying on his side, her boyfriend’s eyes had yet to stray from their intertwined fingers, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb ever so softly. 

Neither of them say much at first, the moments in the kitchen now gone, making way for a much needed conversation.

Agatha sighs.

Her entire body shifts, curling closer to him, her legs tangling up on his. Tedros’ feet, now lacking both his boots and socks, are unfairly cold compared to his warm chest, but she doesn’t flinch, bringing their joint hands to her lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles.

“I was so scared that you had changed your mind,” the words flow out of her mouth in a rushed stream. She doesn’t give him any context; he already knows what she’s talking about. “I thought it was too late and-”

Tedros peers at her with moonlit blue eyes and the rest of it gets stuck in her throat.

“You know, for someone so clever you sure can be pigheaded.”

Agatha frowns, but the fondness in his voice keeps her from being too offended.

“I told you, I spent the entire week _thinking_ ,” he continues, “wondering if this was another one of those times where you could see something I simply couldn’t. But the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that, here,” Tedros disentangles their fingers to press her palm against his chest, “ _in my heart_ , there has never been any other answer. It’s you, _it’s always been you_ , from day one.”

“But Sophie-” she averts her gaze back to the ceiling, withdrawing her hand and holding it against her own heart.

“Might make an _okay_ queen to some unlucky prince someday,” he harshly cuts Agatha off before she has the chance to argue, “but not to me.”

Tedros doesn’t sound actually angry, at least she doesn’t think he does. Frustrated, mostly.

“Why not?”

“Because,” he withdraws his arm from behind her head grasping her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes. They’re darker than usual, steely in their resolve. “Sophie doesn’t love me. Not really. _Not like you do._ She could never,” Tedros insists, using his free hand to make her lie on her side, facing him, circling her waist. “And even if she could, I wouldn’t want her to. I love _you_. I want _you_. I choose _you_.”

His grip on her is firm, as if to emphasize his point, and the _warmth_ she felt earlier in the kitchen is back, fogging up her mind. She places her both of her hands on his shoulders, whether to push him away or encourage him to come closer, she is not sure.

“Besides, I’ve tried kissing Sophie; she _definitely_ doesn’t feel like ever after.”

The knowledge that such a kiss happened doesn’t haunt Agatha, like she dreaded it would. In fact, with the sensory overload he is giving her, she barely even registers it. But it’s enough for her to make one last argument:

“The Storian hasn’t written ‘the end’. You don’t know what ever after feels like.”

“Maybe not yet” the prince replies, “but I already know what ever after is _supposed_ to feel like...” his fingers ease their hold on her chin, only for his thumb to move upwards, tracing her lips slowly, “...because I can taste it on your lips every time I kiss you.”

There’s no more room for talking once Agatha tugs on his shirt and closes off the small distance between them. Right then and there, something inside her seems to snap, and what was once a lingering _warmth_ in her belly spreads into a fullflegded _wildfire_. 

_Poetry at its finest._

His lips move hungrily against her own, giving her no option other than following his lead. The grip on her waist tightens and he bites her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from her, which he fully uses to his advantage, pushing his tongue into her mouth as the hand on her chin slides to her jaw, angling her head to give him better access.

One of her hands immediately flies to Tedros’ hair, tangling her fingers into the golden curls for some sort of control as she tries to keep up with the unforgiving rhythm of his kiss, the other using her hold on his shirt to goad him into coming closer.

Soon enough the prince is on top of her, with his knee between her legs. Most of his upper body weight is being balanced on his forearm, the pseudo-mattress sinking under the pressure, in an attempt of not crushing her, but the girl insists on pulling him down further, using his shoulder as leverage.

Just a second before Agatha’s breath runs out, he starts to trail open mouthed kisses across her jaw all the way to her ear, his nose tracing its shell as he whispers:

“Say that you don’t belong with me,” Tedros moves downwards, kissing and then nipping at her neck until he finally seems to find what he had been looking for. “Look me in the eyes and say it. Say you don’t love me back.” 

She doesn’t say anything at all, not trusting herself to form any kind of cohesive sentence. He tires of waiting for her response, nipping at her pulse point before suddenly suckling on the skin.

Agatha tilts her head back to give him more room, pulling onto his hair to encourage him to keep going. He bites her again, nowhere near as gentle as he had been before, and her lips part in breathy whisper of his name.

“If you can’t, then say you’re mine, Agatha,” Tedros mutters against her skin, lapping at the bite to soothe the mark, “because I’ve always been yours.”

_Yours._

The word seems to send an electric current down her spine, and she tries to pull him back up into another kiss but Tedros refuses to move, not budging an inch. Dark eyes stare up at her, the liquid fire running through her veins pressing her to say _something_ , and she eventually decides to surrender this battle to him:

“I’m yours,” she tells him, the hand on his shoulder gliding towards his cheek. 

His eyes close in relief, letting out the breath he had been holding. 

“I’m sorry,” Agatha adds.

The prince nods softly, leaning his cheek further into her hand. _Apology accepted_. A small smile plays on his lips once he opens his eyes again, examining the bruised skin on her neck.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” he playfully blows some air over it, nosing her jaw, “oops.”

Tedros has some nerve, she’ll give him that.

“You’re such an ass,” she says, pushing at his chest, one hand going up to feel the damage, before she flinches away. Agatha glares at him. “Get off me.”

He laughs, fighting her attempts of pushing him away, but lifting himself up so he now hovered above her.

“I call it being assertive.”

“That was you being _assertive?_ ”

“It made you see my point, didn’t it?”

Agatha lifts a brow.

“So you’re just gonna kiss me into agreeing with you on all arguments from now on?”

“If only I could,” Tedros teases, capturing her earlobe between his teeth and tugging on it, “you sure didn’t seem to be complaining a few minutes a-”

The suggestive statement makes Agatha feel a rush of embarrassment coming up the back of neck and taking over her cheeks. She’s not sure if he can tell she’s blushing, given the poor lighting of the barn, but she decides that smug smirk of his needs to _go_.

She’s also not sure where the confidence to do so comes from, but with a strategic swipe of her leg, she is able to knock him off balance. The prince yelps in surprise as his head hits the forgotten pillow and Agatha takes advantage of his distraction to straddle his hips, sitting just above the thick belt he wore. She places both of her palms on his chest, leaning over him, a hair’s breadth away from his mouth.

“Did you say something…?” she asks cockily, feeling his heartbeat speed up under her right hand.

It’s Tedros turn kiss her.

Despite the fact that she was now practically pinning him to the hay-made bed, she still felt like she was following Tedros’ lead. It wasn’t by any means a bad thing, but it definitely felt a bit weird. She’s so used to being the one in charge, to making all the plans, that _this_ , this freedom to just not think for a while, felt very strange and foreign.

Everything feels new and exciting and if she’s not careful she might get addicted to it.

This kiss is just as hard and deep as the previous one, but they differ in the fact that this one builds up much more gradually. 

Agatha takes her time exploring his mouth, relishing in the way she can drag out husky groans from him by tugging at his hair. The way his hands move across her body – tracing her spine, snaking around her waist, then running down to her hips, only to go up her sides, brushing her breasts ever so slightly over the night-dress before going back home into her hair – is driving her insane and it’s all too much and not nearly enough all at once.

Perhaps that’s what gives Agatha the courage to glide her own hands down his chest, sliding underneath Tedros’ loose shirt. Beneath her, every muscle in his body goes rigid, his fingers frozen where they were, currently groping the curve of her hips. 

She breaks the kiss, eyes snapping open, but his hold on her hips keeps her from moving further away.

“Sorry,” she whispers, removing her hands. 

“No, no, no, don’t be sorry,” Tedros laughs nervously, grabbing and placing her palms back on his skin, underneath his shirt, “it’s alright... you can take it off, if you want.”

By now, Agatha has seen the prince shirtless countless times and she had even taken his shirt off herself a few times, when he had been injured in Graves Hill.

 _This_ doesn’t feel anything like that at all.

Tedros’ lips part as he watches her. She plays around the hem of the cream colored article, uncovering his torso inch by inch, letting her knuckles stroke the newly exposed skin, careful to avoid the, now almost healed, sword wound left by Excalibur. 

When she accidentally brushes over his nipples his breath suddenly hitches and she panics, but a gentle nod of his head encourages her to keep going. Tedros lifts his back and raises his arms for her to pull the shirt over his head, placing it somewhere to her left, careful to not crumple it too much.

He squeezes her hip to call her attention back to him, but otherwise doesn’t move, patiently waiting for her to come out of her shell.

Agatha experiments tracing the lines on his chest with her short fingernails, a bit hypnotized by how his muscles tensed and then relaxed under her touch. She can’t help but want to learn it all: from the soft noise that escapes his lips when she circles a nipple, to the way he bares his throat in invitation when she kisses behind his ear.

Tedros does his best to guide her, gasping and groaning when he liked something and gently pushing her hands when he didn’t. Despite how at ease (if not a bit _bothered_ ) he looks, she can hear his pulse hammering under the surface, his eyes darkening with barely concealed desire. And well, if that wasn’t enough to grow her confidence, then the bulge in his pants just beneath her could tell her just how turned on he was.

She tries different pressures and speeds, as well as varying between kissing, nipping, sucking and lightly scratching to find her favorite reactions. It’s a tough competition, but she thinks the best one might be the stretched out moan he rewards her with when she bites at the spot where his shoulder met his neck combined with the way his entire body shudders as she drags her nails towards his V. 

The prince’s grip on her bony hips grows painfully tight, to the point it might bruise and Agatha flinches, squirming in his lap, resulting on him bucking his hips against her with a groan.

“ _Mercy,_ Agatha,” he pleads, smiling through his heavy panting, pulling her down to hold her still in his arms, placing adoring kisses all over her face, “you’re killing me, princess.”

With his arms locked around her, it’s all too easy for him to flip them over again, though she does get the luxury of having a pillow this time. Tedros is still hyperventilating, his hair slightly damp with sweat, as he holds himself above her, caging her in, but instead of kissing her, he just _looks at her_ and this time there is no way he can’t tell she was blushing. 

“What?” she inquires as a few more second go by.

“I love the way you’re looking at me right now,” the prince replies fondly.

“Oh,” Agatha responds dumbly, “how am I looking at you?”

Tedros looks so absolutely smug it makes her want to throw him off the hay-bed. He sits back between her legs, his hands seeking hers, lacing their fingers together once more, this time to pull her up.

He then releases one of them, pushing back her bangs to kiss her forehead.

“Like you want something,” Tedros explains, “but you need to tell me what you want, because the last thing _I’_ d want is to make you uncomfortable.”

Agatha blinks, staring at the shirtless boy. His hair is the messiest she has ever seen it look, his rib cage embellished with faint red lines, his neck covered in small bruises and he has never looked so _hers._

“More,” she says bluntly.

Her boyfriend snorts.

“You might wanna be a bit more specific.”

She hits his arm playfully, closing her eyes to try and put her thoughts back in cohesive order. It’s a bit hard to concentrate with Tedros playing with a lock of her hair but eventually she manages to.

“More than just kissing,” she elaborates, “I want to keep touching you and… I want you to touch me too. As in, _all over_.” 

Was her face on fire? She feels like it might be. 

“But definitely not _going all the way_. I don’t… feel ready for that yet,” Agatha concludes.

It’s not the most articulate way to put it and her mother would have had some criticisms but it doesn’t matter, as Tedros seems to understand her just fine.

“Okay,” the boy smiles at her, the loving look in his eyes making Agatha’s insides flutter. He grabs her hands again, now kissing her palms. “I don’t really feel ready for _that_ either.”

She blinks.

“Didn’t you say your father took you to an harem for your birthday?”

“He did,” Tedros confirms, a tiny hint of annoyance showing up on his features, “it’s bit of a tradition for kings to take their sons there and then have the women _teach us_ what to do.”

“I suppose that doesn’t apply to princesses?” Agatha asks furrowing her brow.

“It’s a dumb tradition,” he agrees. “It’s supposed to be after the prince’s 16th birthday, but my father rushed it because he knew he was dying.” _And didn’t do anything to stop himself from dying_ , he doesn’t say, but she can hear him. She squeezes his hands trying to offer him some kind of support.

“How did they even let you in?” she changes the subject and he gives her a grateful look.

“I was way too young to pass for a 16-year-old, but a prince is a prince, no matter how old he is,” Tedros shrugs. “Father basically left me there with the girls for about three hours, after he explained ‘the birds and the bees’ to me. They taught me how to get myself off and basic contraception, but I got uncomfortable when they started to undress to teach me women’s anatomy, so they offered me some snacks and told me some funny stories instead.”

Agatha can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Wait, so you don’t kn-”

“I know the theory stuff they taught us in sex ed at the School For Good. During the first year, I mean,” he interrupts her, blushing, withdrawing his hands to cross his arms defensively, “which is more than you’d know, since they only give girls sex ed on their third year.”

She gives him a blank stare.

“What?”

“My mom was a _women’s doctor_ ,” Agatha speaks slowly, a tiny smirk hidden in the corner of her lips, “I think I know my sex-stuff just fine.”

“Wasn’t she a herbalist?” The prince uncrosses his arms. “I thought she was, like, a _witch doctor_ sort of doctor,” he mumbles in confusion, “potions and herbs and stuff.”

“Tedros, _my love,_ ” he glares at her and she chuckles, “who do you think provided birth control in Gavaldon?”

“I hadn’t really thought about that…” Tedros admits before his expression turns into absolute horror and mortification. “Wait. Does this mean… when we showed up… did she think…?

“Yeah.” Agatha grins.

 _“OH MY-”_ she puts her hand over his mouth.

His shoulders start shaking with laughter and soon they are both cackling, trying to keep the volume down, collapsing on their backs on the makeshift-bed.

“No wonder she hated me,” Tedros says after they can finally breathe again.

“She didn’t hate you,” Agatha insisted. “But yeah, you were still unconscious when we had that talk. It was so embarrassing it made me wish _I_ had been _burnt at a stake._ ”

Agatha doesn’t mean for the joke to get _that_ dark, but he doesn’t call her out on it, merely brushing his fingers up and down her arm. 

_It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here for you._

“She had been meaning to teach me how to brew some birth control pretty much since I was thirteen, but I kept delaying it and now I-” she hates how her voice cracks, a knot forming in her throat, “I don’t even know who I should ask about this and-”

A pair of warm arms wraps around her and pull her in. Agatha sighs tiredly, burying her nose on the crook of his neck.

“We’ll cross that bridge once we get to it,” he soothes, stroking her hair. She slowly relaxes again, her eyelids growing heavy as he massaged her scalp with the very tip of his fingers.

“If you keep doing that I’m gonna fall asleep, Tedros,” she warns with a pleasured sigh.

The prince chuckles, his bare chest vibrating as he did so.

“I’ll carry you back if you do,” he reassures her, kissing her hairline.

“No, I mean,” Agatha illustrates her point by brushing her lips past the spot between his shoulder and neck, trailing up his throat to linger on his pulse point, two of her fingers dipping under the hem of his breeches as far as the belt allowed.

Tedros’ fingers tighten in her hair and she can tell his breathing got slightly irregular.

He guides her away from his neck to inspect her expression, his eyes searching hers for something.

“We don’t need to do anything tonight, Agatha. I’m not gonna be mad that you didn’t want to makeout with me if you’re not in the mood. We’ve got time.”

_Did they?_

Did Sophie destroy the ring? Was the story over?

Agatha didn't feel like it was. And as long as it wasn’t, there was no telling what tomorrow could hold. If her hunch was correct and Sophie didn’t destroy the ring, they were all probably going to die in less than a week.

That’s not what she tells him, though.

“I know,” she smiles, before stretching it into a smirk, “but I thought you said you liked the way I’m looking at you right now?”

“Perhaps a bit too much,” he admits, the hungry look from earlier coming through. “You’re sure?”

“ _More,_ ” it’s all she says and it’s all he needs.

She’s not particularly heavy, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how easy it is for Tedros to manhandle her. One second she’s curled up against his side and the other he had lifted her by the hips, having her straddle him again.

He pulls her down to press his lips to hers, tracing them with his tongue, asking for entrance. Agatha meets him halfway, catching his jaw between her hands, controlling the rhythm of the kiss. The prince’s hands abandon the nape of her neck in order to explore her back, before he gets a grip on her waist pulling her down as he thrusts his hips up against hers.

The friction feels excruciating in the best possible way and Tedros utilizes her distraction to slip out of her control, trailing scorching kisses down her throat, towards her collarbones. While the neckline of her so-called night-dress was relatively modest, the fabric still allowed enough stretching for the skin to be within reach of his mouth with barely any trouble.

One of Agatha’s hands goes to his chest, trying to stabilize herself as he licks, nibbles and sucks at the sensitive skin to find out how many of those tiny whimpers of hers he could draw out. The number doubles once his hands finally meet the pale skin of her legs.

They stroke up her thighs gingerly, only to squeeze the flesh hard enough to make her cry out, before going down her leg again, never daring to go above the hemline of the night-dress. At first, Agatha thinks that Tedros is just trying to be respectful (which she would appreciate in literally any other situation but this one), but as he uses his short nails to ghost up the inside of her thighs, she can see him biting back a self-satisfied smirk.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” she accuses him, burying her hands into his hair. “Stop teasing.”

“You were the one walking around with _no pants_ , offering to put back the dishes in the cupboard and _I’m_ the tease?” Tedros groans back at her. Agatha can’t think of a response and he seems to deem her guilty, biting a tender spot on her shoulder.

Just as he is about to stroke up her leg once again, she grabs one of his hands, placing it on her ass, under her shirt. The prince leans back against the sheets, looking at her straight in the eyes as he mimics the placement with his other hand, proceeding to stay still with the most insufferable expression she has ever seen on his face.

If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under in a flash.

“Tedros,” she warns.

Nothing.

Agatha glares at him once more before pushing her knees farther apart to be able to grind herself against his erection, dragging her nails down his chest (making sure to scratch his nipples). He practically growls at her, his hands squeezing the flesh of her ass tightly in impulse retaliation, his cock twitching at the friction.

There’s no time for him to bask in the uncharacteristically girlish squeal the action pulled from her mouth, as she keeps rolling her hips over him, watching him struggle to keep up any sort of composure.

Perhaps her plan works a bit too well, as she suddenly finds herself flat on her back again.

She lets out a breathless laugh that dissolves into a strangled noise as Tedros slips a hand under the night-dress, teasing her folds over her soaked underwear, as his other hand fondled with the hemline of said night dress.

“Can I take it off?”

“Yes,” Agatha pants, gripping his shoulders, “which one?”

“You should probably have asked that first,” the prince chuckles. “Both?”

She pulls him down to kiss him again. _Both is great_.

Fortunately, Tedros doesn’t torture her with the night-dress for much longer and starts to work on getting the garment off her body, breaking the kiss to pull it over her head, but once he does, he sits back, staring at her with a special look in his eyes. 

Agatha squirms nervously, her chest heaving with anticipation. It felt like forever, but it was only a few seconds until he smiled, crawling back over her.

“You’re stunning,” he whispers softly in her ear, kissing her jaw.

“Tedros,” she protests, pushing him away while her skin turned red in embarrassment.

He watches in fascination as the rash on her neck made its way down her chest, stopping between her breasts. 

“You are,” he insists, seeking her eyes again, _“I love you so much.”_

The butterflies in her belly and the sheer heat in her core seem to be competing on which one can make her legs tremble the most, and at this point Agatha can’t even tell which is which anymore.

He places light kisses all over her cheeks, before one of his hands invites her to tilt her head to the side to expose her neck. Her boyfriend kisses along the bruised skin, taking his time to love all the patches of skin he deemed to not have been paid enough attention to, muttering sweet nothings and compliments over and over again.

She has to remind herself to breathe once he starts trailing downwards, dragging his lips though the unexplored trail of reddish skin he had been eyeing earlier as his fingers, previously resting at her waist, trail up her sides to fondle with her small chest.

Her fingers go back into his hair to guide him exactly where she wanted him. She can’t discern if she imagined his chuckle or not, but Tedros makes sure she doesn’t find out by following her direction and wrapping his lips around a perky nipple. 

The fingers on his hair tighten to let him know not to stop as he sucks on it, his free hand massaging her other breast. Tedros flickers that nipple between his thumb and index finger just as he scrapes his teeth on the one he had been working on and a needy moan falls from Agatha’s parted lips.

“Do that again,” she orders and the prince complies.

After switching breasts, he lets go of the sensitive peak with a wet pop, nuzzling her chest. Glancing at her flushed face, he uses his arms to crawl his way down her body, leaving open mouthed kisses all over her rib cage and stomach until he arrives at her hips, biting and kissing along her hip bones, apparently deciding he wanted to leave his mark there as well.

His fingers playfully hook under the sides of her panties, snapping the elastic on her skin and Agatha tries to glare at him for it, but it becomes awfully hard to do so when he noses the wet stain in her underwear while keeping eye-contact with her.

She throws her head back and shuts her eyes, her heartbeat speeding up to the point she was sure she’d explode.

Her boyfriend slowly drags her panties down her legs, lifting her hips and Agatha does her best to not impulsively kick him for taking so long.

“Agatha,” he calls, setting them aside, alongside the night-dress and his shirt, _“look at me.”_

The sight of Tedros between her legs, resting his cheek on her inner thigh as he strokes her hips is almost too much, but she does as he asks.

A mischievous smile greets her, his hands sliding down her legs all the way to her ankles to bend her knees, before gripping her thighs, spreading them farther apart with his shoulders, softly blowing over her slit, sending goosebumps up her spine. She tries to shift her hips into his face, but it occurs to her she has nowhere to shift to, completely at his mercy.

He seems to know it too.

Tedros kisses along her inner thighs, getting closer and closer, only to skip over the place she wanted him most, nuzzling the small patch of black hair, slyly grinning at her, feeling her tremble under his touch. Just as she thinks she is starting to get used to the feeling, he lets his lips brush over her, painfully gentle, and Agatha breaks:

_“Please.”_

One of her hands grips the bed sheets as the other goes back to his hair, and he lets her guide him closer. With an experimental swipe of his tongue along her folds, he sends an electric current into her veins, being rewarded with a low whine asking him to keep going. Varying between licks and open mouthed kisses, he lets go of one of her tights, asking her to swing the leg over his shoulder in order to use his fingers to hold her open and have better access.

Agatha isn’t even sure of what she wants until he accidentally stumbles onto the top of her slit, and she pulls him in that direction. He flickers her clit with his tongue tentatively, resulting in a broken cry that he turns into a muffled scream once he decides to wrap his lips around it and suck sharply, the wet noise so obscene it made her shiver. She tugs on his locks and the way he groans against her has her questioning whether or not her soul had left her body.

The prince is a fast learner and an eager student, attentively analysing her reactions to determine what he should keep doing and what to change up, noticing her breathing getting ragged and her thigh pressing down on his shoulder to keep him in place as well as her hold onto his hair. Slowly, he allows his fingers to stroke her, switching his mouth for his thumb on her clit, rubbing it with circular movements as he brought his tongue to her entrance, lapping at her juices with long licks.

With a kiss to her clit, he slightly pulls back to glide a finger downwards, slightly dipping into her.

Agatha tenses up.

“No?” Tedros asks, concern sweeping into lust filled eyes.

She shakes her head.

“Go on.”

He places a loving kiss to her thigh and she wills her muscles to relax again.

“If it hurts, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

Her boyfriend is back at working her clit with his lips as his finger sinks inside slowly. It feels… _weird_. Not bad weird, just different. Tedros keeps his eyes on her watching for any sign of pain as he slides in, before sliding out, and then in again, eventually building his rhythm to match his mouth.

She feels her core tightening, an overwhelming built up that has her desperately grinding against his face, shamelessly murmuring his name, begging him to speed up. When he brushes against a certain spot inside her accidentally, just as he delivers a long suck to her clit, her vision goes white, her entire body spasming, arching off the hay-bed as her hand on his hair tightens, pressing him closer as she rode wave after wave of bliss.

Once it’s over, she lets go of his hair, falling limp on the bed sheets, still panting and shaking with aftershock. Agatha watches as her boyfriend lets go of her thigh, carefully kissing the inside of the one that had been thrown over his shoulder as he placed it back on the makeshift bed, before sitting up, licking his lips as he wiped her juices from his chin and nose. 

The sight is now _burnt_ in her mind and it occurs to her she’ll never be able to look at him the same way ever again.

And it’s definitely not a bad thing.

He feels her eyes on him.

“So how did I do?” Tedros smirks.

She’s so dazed she doesn’t even mind how cocky he looks, grabbing his hand to pull him down beside her to kiss him.

His lips taste like _her_ and she should probably not be as turned on by it as she was.

“You did pretty great,” Agatha compliments, playing with his hair, basking on how she had absolutely ruined his usual hairstyle beyond repair, “could use some more _practice_ though.”

“Practice does make perfect,” the prince snickers in agreement, wrapping his arms around her.

She allows him to place light kisses all over her face and shoulders for a while, before pushing at his chest, silently telling him that she wanted him to lie down on his back.

Tedros does so, but not without bringing her with him, placing his girlfriend half on top of his chest. She wiggles in his hold to free herself with a laugh, moving to kiss his jaw and make her way down, kissing his chest once more, lightly pulling one of his niples between her teeth, earning herself a pleased moan.

Agatha’s fingers gently trace the outline of his arousal under the black breeches, watching him buck up into her, twitching for attention.

“Need a hand?” she asks, raising her eyes to meet his. She squeezes the bulge and Tedros groans loudly.

“Don’t tease, Agath-” he orders, her name dragging into a strangled gasp as she bit down on a spot right next to the hemline of his pants.

The thick belt that usually held Excalibur was tricky to unbuckle and he had to help her with it, but once it was gone, she makes quick work of freeing his cock, sliding both his pants and his briefs down his legs, not nearly as gracefully as she had taken off his shirt, but she supposes you can’t always win.

Her boyfriend, however, did not seem to mind her lack of elegance, sighing in relief at being out of the tight clothes.

She takes a moment to stare at him.

Agatha knows human anatomy well enough (her mother made sure she did), but it was one thing seeing it in a book and a completely different one seeing it in real life.

“Your carpet doesn’t match your curtains, hm,” she observers, lightly brushing over the dark blond curls with her fingers before running down to squeeze his thighs.

He gives a her breathless laugh as he explains:

“It’s the sun, it makes my ha-” Tedros interrupts himself to groan as she took a lick at the underside of his cock, like one would a popsicle.

Agatha wraps her hand around him, testing just how much pressure she should put, lightly squeezing the base as she takes the tip into her mouth, being mindful of her teeth. His hips thrust up and his fingers tangle in her hair as she sucks, flickering her tongue over the head, exploring the skin, before releasing him.

Her hand strokes his shaft way too gently on purpose, placing her palm on his hip to keep him from bucking up again.

“Harder?” she questions, looking up at him cheekly.

Tedros glares back at her.

She moves up her hand, taking advantage of the spit left in the head to massage him, using a firm grip, experimenting leaving wet open-mouthed kisses from the base all the way to the tip, before taking as much of him as she could into her mouth. When their eyes meet, she watches him curse loudly, throwing his head back, guiding her head to move.

Mostly, she lets him set the pace, bobbing up and down his length, trying to keep a similar rhythm with her hand, in short strokes. Unlike Agatha, who was more on the quieter side, her prince was very vocal, uttering broken praises mixed with groans of her name and the eventual string of curses once she moved her other hand from his hip to fondle with his balls.

His hips buck up to meet her movements, the pressure on her head increasing as she works him, urging her to go faster and deeper. Her jaw starts to hurt a bit, but that is quickly pushed aside once she glances up again, seeing Tedros completely lost in pleasure, moaning about how pretty she looks with his cock in her mouth while looking at her like she hung the moon and the stars.

The sentence makes Agatha shudder around his length and that seems to send him over the edge, forcing her down deeper as he thrusted up a final time. He hits the back of her throat making her gag, but the firm grip on her hair keeps her from flinching away, her eyes tearing up slightly as she choked on him.

Whatever high he was in wears off once she pulls away coughing, some of his cum spilling down the side of her mouth. 

“Are you okay?” Tedros puts a hand in her back, worried, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to that.”

Agatha waves him off, wiping her face once she managed to regain her footing. She crawls up his body, lying down by his side.

“It’s fine. Just make sure to warn me next time.”

He nods, the biggest grin she had ever seen making its way onto him face as he rolls on his side to kiss her forehead, going down her temples and cheeks, before pulling her closer by the waist, so that his chest was against her back. She lets him wrap his arm around her torso, shifting back into his chest.

A giggle slips out of her mouth as he nuzzles her neck, and honestly, if she were to die in less than a week, she could think of much worse ways to be spending her time.

Her body feels heavy, Tedros still somehow smells nice (which should not be allowed, because he is just as sweaty as her), and the emotional exhaustion is catching up to her but the starry night she can see through the ceiling reminds her:

“We need to get dressed and head back to the house.”

His arm tightens around her.

“Not yet,” he murmurs on her ear.

“Not yet,” she agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I cheated my way out of vaginal sex for this one. Please don’t kill me. I was originally going to write it in, but I didn’t feel like it’d be in character for them? I mean it’s porn, but it’s porn with feelings and that makes sense kinda.  
> But, if you really wanna see that... there is a sequel to this. It’s set after the OTK epilogue, aka on the wedding night, which will be titled “with care and so much”. I don’t know when I’ll have it out, but it should be some time next month? With me you just never know.  
> Also, you should check out my ‘Callis as Gavaldon’s witch gynecologist’ headcanons either on my insta or on tumblr because I think those turned out great.  
> On the title for both this fic and its sequel: I can’t believe I am quoting Vinicius de Morais on my smut fic (this man is rolling in his grave), but yeah. It’s a line from a very very famous brazilian love poem. It’s incredible, it always makes me cry, and it’s called Soneto de Fidelidade, the full line being: "Above all, to my love I'll be attentive/First and always, with care and so much".


End file.
